Like a Girl
by Jedi Amoira
Summary: Elan Cousland heads into the Wilds w/ her fellow Grey Warden recruits under Alistair's supervision. What they encounter there leads to some surprising behavior--both on her part and on Alistair's. Fic COMPLETE for now? at 2 chapters long.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer-- As much as I wish otherwise, I do not own DAO. I do not own any of the characters there-in, including the female Cousland origin character, though I would like to think my interpretation of her is my own. I do not own the environment, events, dialogue, etc. I expect and will receive nothing from this story but the joy of paying homage to excellence. (Imitation, after all, is sincere flattery.) Nonetheless, I do work hard on my little stories, and I love them. Please don't repost or reprint them without my knowledge. Further, like all fanfic writers, I am fueled by reviews. If you like and want more, please encourage me by telling me so. If you see something you dislike or think needs to be fixed, I will be happy to learn...but please be gentle!

Notes-- This short fic (2 chapters total at the moment) is a fragment of what or may not eventually become a longer, more comprehensive fic. If I waited until that fic was in a condition to post, I would never post at all, and I wanted to post.

It might be helpful to know that Elan's story arc, Duncan's message to Alistair said that Teyrn Cousland's daughter had refused testing, but he had received permission to test Gilmore. The testing hadn't taken place when the message was sent to Ostagar w/ Ser Jory. So Alistair doesn't know exactly who Elan is, or the circumstances of how she came to be recruited, though he has his suspicions.

* * *

Something bobbing at the edge of the lake just visible from the path caught her eye. Elan stopped, so abruptly that Daveth had to dodge to the side to avoid walking into her. Unfortunately, the less agile Jory walked into him, sending them both stumbling about in a tangle of armor and cursing.

Trying not to snicker—and failing miserably—Alistair waded cautiously into the fray and began to sort them out.

A part of Elan would have liked to turn and see the commotion she heard behind her, but she couldn't tear her eyes from the faint, drifting shape. It looked like a body, and it looked human...though from what little she'd heard of darkspawn, they might look just the same from that far off. Perhaps it was nothing more than a piece of wood. Or a rock. Or her fevered imagination. But...she feared it was none of those things. She feared it was Fergus.

She ran, left her purpose and the men who shared it behind her, forgotten, and flung herself down, unthinking, at the lake's edge. Closer, it was impossible to deny: the object was—had been—human. It was floating just out of reach. Heedless of her safety, heedless of the fact the body wore long, muddied robes nothing like the dark green-gray mail Fergus had been wearing, she reached out to snatch him from back from the watery grave that held him.

Every unsuccessful grasp made the body whirl and float a bit further away. Elan gave a snarl of frustration, digging the toes of her boots into the earth, pushing herself forward.

"Is she _insane_?" Daveth asked as the men drew in around her. "That water can't be much above freezing. And leather or not, that armor will drag her straight to the bottom if she falls in. Which she will, if she keeps that up..." He eyed her with a smirk. "Not that it isn't interesting."

Squelching the inexplicable urge to wipe that smirk off his face, Alistair unceremoniously seized Elan's ankles and pulled.

She shrieked—not the fearful scream he might have expected of a woman in an area overrun with darkspawn, but one of full of enraged protest—and kicked out. He lurched back and to the side so that the blow caught his mailed hip instead of landing in his chest or groin, but—even so—her foot connected with a faint clang that heralded an extremely nasty bruise. Her foot had to sting as well, but apparently that wasn't enough to give her pause. Elan lunged forward again, nearly slipping from his grasp.

_She looks like a worm trying to wriggle off the hook_, Alistair thought derisively, disturbed to discover that something about the thrashing of her legs and hips was...strangely hypnotic. _ I've spent a couple of weeks with Daveth, and he's already rubbing off. _ _Maker help me. Maker help us all._

"Let...Go..." she demanded, flailing out in another kick.

Alistair had learned his lesson. Her feet were tucked out of the way under his arm. He toyed with the idea of trying to set her upright, but he doubted she would cooperate. Besides...there was the view to consider..._Clearly, I am a bad, bad man._

Daveth crouched down near Elan's shoulder, though he seemed less interested in peering into her face than in continuing to stare at her backside as she struggled. Alistair thought he must be exceptionally nervy or exceptionally stupid. He also thought he'd like to place a kick or two of his own, just to work out his frustration...and—oddly enough—it wasn't Elan he'd like to kick. _Probably some strange vestige of the templar training. Can't go distressing damsels, even if they're the cause of your distress, _Alistair thought wryly.

"Hysterical," Daveth commented conversationally. "Just like a woman. Dontcha know that guy must've been in there for days—it'd take him that long to get rotten enough. To float."

Elan stopped fighting. "You're right," she said flatly.

"Don't worry," Jory soothed. "I've got him, see?"

Sure enough, he'd reached out and slid his great sword into the lake on the body's far side, propelling it to shore.

"If your Helena doesn't know how lucky she is, I'll be happy to set her straight," Elan enthused.

Daveth began to laugh at the half-pleased, half-chagrined look that crossed Jory's face as he stammered some polite reply. Alistair thought he ought to be amused as well, but somehow he wasn't. He was merely annoyed. He dropped Elan's feet abruptly. They bounced against the turf. She didn't seem to notice.

She crawled over to the body. Its face was a melted, gooey mass of deformed flesh that made her retch, but she began to pat the body down, slowly and methodically. "This man wasn't part of that patrol," she explained, more to distract herself than because she thought it would ease the confused disbelief radiating from her companions. "If he makes it back, the man Alistair bandaged will explain what happened...someone somewhere must have records of who went on patrol with him. Their families will be...notified. But this guy..." She paused, struggling against tears. _Oh, Maker, thank you, thank you for not letting this be Fergus...He has to be okay, please let him be okay..._ "His family will never know what happened to him. Unless we can find something—anything—that will tell us who he was."

"He might not be carrying anything," Daveth said bluntly. "People often don't."

"Yes..." Elan agreed, teeth gritted. "I know. But this guy is. He has to be."

"Uh, Elan," Alistair said awkwardly, shifting his weight. "I see where you're coming from, and I would like to help this guy's family, but we are kind of on a—"

Elan's grunt of disgust as her fingers brushed a clammy lump of something almost...flaky. Grimacing with distaste, she peeled the wad free and held it up to the light. It looked very much like a piece of paper, one that had seen much better days. "See?" she said, waving the ink-spotted ball of sludge triumphantly. "A letter!" She tried to unroll it and it dissolved into her lap in chunks. She frowned at the piece still in her hand. "...ockbox...cam...retur...our...my death...st...etta."

"Well, that clears that right up," Alistair said dryly, then felt like a bit of a jerk.

"He was worried about his family!" Elan informed him indignantly. "He must have...hidden a lockbox...in camp..to be returned to them if he died. But who is '—etta' ? Where is she? Do you think his camp is nearby?"

"There's no way of knowing, my lady," Jory said gently "We best get on about our own business."

"Right you are, Ser Jory," Alistair chimed, shooting the knight a grateful look. "Duncan is counting on us."

Elan sighed, brushing the paper from her lap, and clambered to her feet. "I...uh...know I overreacted...it's just..."

Alistair shook his head. "This sort of thing isn't going to happen often is it?"

"Oh...nevermind!"she snapped, starting off down the path. "Let's just get on with your precious Duncan's precious business."

"I'm sorry," she said as Alistair caught up to her, making his step falter in surprise. "That wasn't nice. I know we have a job to do...I shouldn't be trying to...well, save the whole world. It's just...my brother is out here somewhere. In the Wilds. On patrol."

"Take it that wasn't him?" Daveth asked as he began to move past.

Alistair accidentally moved his arm out just enough to bump the cutpurse with his shield. Hard enough to make him stumble, though not hard enough to do any real damage.

Daveth shot him a look.

Alistair met it with eyebrows innocently raised. "Consider it forgotten," he said, talking to both Daveth and Elan.

Elan dipped her head to glance at him sideways. The corners of her lips seemed to edge upward ever-so-slightly.

Daveth looked between the two of them and smirked. Alistair considered stepping on his toes for good measure.

Jory was looking around like a rabbit expecting the hounds. "Did you hear that?"


	2. Chapter 2

Alistair signaled stop. "Darkspawn," he said softly. "Just ahead. Five or six of them, I think. They know we're coming—they're probably positioned on a ridge, ready to start shooting arrows at us when we come into range."

"They'll start shooting when they _notice_ we're in range," Elan mused.

"That's what I just said," Alistair said, nerves making him short. It was one thing to watch yourself—or even your allies—in battle, and another thing entirely to worry about someone under your watch being injured or killed.

"Not exactly," Daveth interjected.

Alistair huffed. They'd been in the Wilds for all of twenty minutes and already the raw recruits were threatening to mutiny. He'd tried to tell Duncan this would happen—_nothing _good ever came of it when Alistair tried to convince others to listen to him.

"Here's the plan," Elan said. "Alistair will lead you in close enough to see this ridge—from cover. Wait until you see me get into position behind the main force. Once that happens, Daveth, let loose for all you're worth. That should get their attention. I'm guessing a few of them will rush you—that's when Alistair and Jory will intercept them. I'll do my best to distract whatever remains on the ridge and keep them from shooting. Sound good?"

Jory whistled under his breath and Daveth nodded. "Tactically, yes," Alistair said, grudging. _But I don't like it._ The words were as clear as if he'd spoken them aloud.

He, Jory, and Daveth would be at relatively low risk, but she could be mobbed and killed before they could intervene. All too easily. _How am I supposed to do my duty and keep you safe if you go putting the good of the group before your own?_ He knew that was unfair—how could he expect her to value their mission over the good of a scout but not over her own? _Duncan would approve_, he admitted to himself. _But I don't like it. _

"See you on the other side," Elan said, almost as if issuing a challenge to his unspoken objections, and wove away between the trees.

Alistair scowled at her back as it vanished, but she'd left him with little choice but to do as she asked. He led Daveth and Jory to a thick growth of brush about ten yards from the rise. Jory muttered a prayer to the Maker under his breath as he caught sight of the twisted, grotesque shapes that awaited them in the mist. That didn't improve Alistair's mood.

It wasn't long before a slight, lithe form flickered into sight, crouched low to the ground, picking its way carefully over the rocks only a couple of feet from the darkspawn. Alistair's breath lodged in his throat. It seemed every step would be the one to dislodge a pebble and announce Elan's presence.

The darkspawn were rough and scaly, their skin the dark, dingy color of a bruise, crusted and scabbed as if rotting slowly away. They certainly _smelled_ as if that were the case; a combination of bile, smoke, feces, and rancid meat. The only thing that kept Elan's roiling stomach clamped into discipline was the thought of what would happen if she gave herself away.

Several times, one of the darkspawn shifted its weight, and she could see a sliver of a face pulled into a deformed sneer. Elan froze, every muscle perfectly taunt, praying she wouldn't hurt herself too badly if she had to roll out of range in a hurry. She'd never thought to have the tumblers she'd wheedled her father into hiring instruct her on uneven terrain as the Master at Arms did with his men. Her lack of foresight was enough to make her want to curse. Eventually she stood at the far peak, easing the hilts of her daggers into her hands.

The sound of Daveth's bow releasing the first arrow made Alistair flinch. The arrow took a darkspawn standing near the center of the group squarely in the chest, setting the entire group off into a chaos of rusty guttural chatter, heads whipping around in search of the offender.

Alistair nudged Jory. The knight took a couple of reluctant steps forward. As Elan had predicted, the two closest rushed toward him. Alistair bellowed a call to battle set to the twang of Daveth's bowstring and pushed though the brush to meet them.

The three darkspawn remaining on the ridge raised their bows. Elan stepped up behind them, sinking a dagger deeply into the crook between neck and shoulder on each of the two nearest, just as Daveth's latest shot thudded heavily into the forearm of the third.

Cautious or not, Elan had cut men in practice before...she'd been hunting...but the resistance that suddenly gave way with a soft, wet squish still caught her by surprise and made her wince.

Blood bubbled and oozed up around her blades like mud between bare toes, turning them to icicles in her grasp...and making the darkspawn themselves smell downright pleasant. Her two victims spun to face her with milky, haunted eyes. The third—looking rather like a pincushion or a porcupine with all the arrows sticking out of him—tried to close rank around her. Everything about them made her stomach lurch and her skin crawl. Their sharp, sour breath skittered over her face like ants over a picnic.

She couldn't afford time to be squeamish. She swept out a leg, caught the nearest behind the knees, making it stagger, and slammed a dagger into its ribs on the other side. It went down with a finality that was rather satisfying.

Daveth's arrows arched into the back of the one beside her target, making it gnash its teeth with pain and rage. The blood from its wounds poured over its armor, slickening the ground under their feet.

Alistair thrust his sword through his opponent's chest, trying to avoid the arterial spray as Jory severed the neck of the one adjacent. He barely bothered to be sure the one he'd felled wasn't getting up again before he galloped up the rise.

Elan had managed to fell one of the darkspawn and had a second lurching on its feet, looking decidedly ill. Alistair rushed the third, knocking it off its feet with his shield. Jory loped into the fray, his lanky form swaying, and sliced Elan's weary-looking opponent in half. _Andraste's sooty spit, _Alistair thought, _I wanted to be the one who did that—it's my job. _Then he realized what he'd just thought and felt his ears burn with embarrassment. _What is wrong with me? All this responsibility is driving me crazy. _

Elan staggered back, managing to avoid the worst of the blood, and gasped for breath. "See?" she said to Alistair. "Smooth as silk, wasn't it?"

Alistair pulled several vials from his pack. Elan pressed the first to the open side of Jory's handiwork where the blood freely flowed. "We aren't done yet," he said wearily. "I can sense another group over that way—about a hundred and fifty yards, maybe?"

"We have all the blood we need," Jory said crossly. "I say we avoid any more skirmishes, grab those treaties, and get back to camp."

"Don't be stupid," Daveth said without heat. "After this Joining, we'll be full-fledged Grey Wardens, and there's a battle brewing. Every darkspawn we manage to kill now is one we won't have to kill then."

"You have a point Daveth," Elan said slowly. Alistair opened his mouth to object and closed it again as she continued, "But...Jory's right. Duncan didn't send us out here to wage vigilante warfare. He said to return as quickly as we could, remember?"

Jory nodded, looking relieved. Daveth nodded too, looking sulky.

"So...Alistair, do these darkspawn know we're in the area?" Elan continued.

Alistair frowned slightly. "Now that you mention it...I don't think they do...they seem...distracted by something."

"Okay, next question—" Elan broke off as a low, keening howl burst over the crest of the ridge.

The darkspawn were distracted with good reason.

They'd been overrun by wolves...and now so was the Grey Warden party.

Alistair lunged forward, thrusting his shield into the breastbone of the one nearest, forcing it back. 

Daveth pulled the bow from his back and let an arrow fly as Jory muttered an oath and pulled his great sword, sending it through two wolves in a smooth arc.

Elan circled quietly around the fray to sweep both daggers wide, sliding them between the ribs of two more wolves.

Elan yanked her daggers free and whirled on the balls of her feet, lashing out in a single smooth motion, hitting the wolf lunging for her back solidly under the chin. It had taken months of dance classes and months more of fighting practice to be able to shift her balance like that—particularly in armor and on unstable ground. She was a credit to her father's household retainers. Too bad he would never know it...and neither would they.

_She still doesn't look fierce. She looks like a little girl playing with swords...but she's good enough at the game,_ Alistair mused, swinging his sword into the shoulder of a wolf trying to edge in at his side.

Daveth's bow twanged, sending more arrows hissing past.

Jory's sword wove dangerously close to Elan's left flank. Alistair started to shout a warning, but she must have seen the flash from the corner of her eye. She spun slightly, using the momentum to bump another wolf, throwing it off balance, and angling her dagger up into its partially exposed belly.

The area seemed to be clear. The four of them assessed one another.

Elan pulled a cloth out of her belt and began wiping down her daggers.

"You don't fight much like any girl I've ever seen," Daveth said.

"You don't fight much like _anyone_ I've ever seen," Jory agreed. "Where did you learn?"

Elan stared at her reflection in her blade.

Alistair had just decided she wasn't going to answer when she said, "Highever. I hail from Highever."

"Highever?" Jory repeated. "What a coincidence. Highever is where I met my lady wife."

_So you __**are**__ Teyrn Cousland's daughter, then. _The words hovered at the tip of Alistair's tongue. But if she'd wanted to discuss her family, surely she would have simply said as much without prompting from him. _Mayhap she changed her mind and her father wasn't pleased? If she and her family are at odds, that explains why she seems so sad...I hope...she doesn't...I hope...they have time to make amends..._


End file.
